


All Pleasures Fancies Be

by xaritomene



Category: All American Rejects, Bandom
Genre: M/M, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fact is, the plain fact is – Tyson loves Nick more than Nick loves Tyson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Pleasures Fancies Be

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with any of the people mentioned here, and none of the events are true. If you've got here by googling yourself or your famous friends, the back-button is your friend.
> 
> (Title from John Donne's poem "The Good Morrow".)

The fact is, the plain fact is – Tyson loves Nick more than Nick loves Tyson. Which is not to say Nick doesn't love Tyson, because he does, deeply. It's just that Tyson loves Nick kind of desperately, with a fervour which occasionally scares him. Tyson, that is. He's terrified of how much he loves Nick, how much he _needs_ him, frightened by the intensity of it. And if he's scared of it, there is no way Nick wouldn't be.

So he hides it, which is a pretty logical thing to do. He hides it away, pretends it's all glitter and high spirits which make him drape himself over Nick the way he does. And if Nick can feel the want thrumming through Tyson when he grabs him, he's nice enough not to mention it.

Tyson holds himself back when they kiss, holds himself back when they fuck. It's nothing and everything: the most he'll ever get and nothing like what he wanted. He _wants_ to hold the moments, make them slow and memorable – but then again, he wants it to hurt, so he'll feel it later, know it had been real.

It was possible that Tyson is kind of fucked in the head.

That was OK, though. So long as Nick never found out.

That was kind of harder than it sounded, between them. They knew each other backwards, better than the back of their hands. Keeping anything from Nick was a tough sell for Tyson - but this was important enough for him to try.

Nick didn't make it easy for him, though, having his coffee perfectly prepared when Tyson got up, happy just to lie there after se- after they'd fucked, the look of concentration on his face during a soundcheck, of unabashed enjoyment during a show. His general Nick-ness. It was irresistible, for Tyson, at least. _Nick_ was irresistible.

True, some people didn't see how amazing Nick was, blinded by Tyson, who gleefully threw himself into people's attention, letting Nick hang back. Tyson knows from a dispassionate glance at himself in a mirror that he's too tall and skinny and his eyes are too big and his mouth too big too – in both senses of the phrase. But if he could keep their eyes on him, it meant they couldn't see Nick the way Tyson did, because Tyson was bounding around the stage, talking shit in interviews or covering himself in glitter to keep their attention.

He knows it's kind of a dickish thing to do, but he's not doing it to keep Nick down. It's partly because without the glitter and misdirection Tyson is a little afraid that they'd realise he was actually still the skinny beanpole he'd been in high school, weird and worried about bullies; he wants to keep them watching the surface so they don't have time to examine the cracks. Sometimes that means the rest of his band get undeservingly shoved aside. But it's mostly because if people took a moment to look at_ Nick_ properly, see him properly, then Tyson won't be able to hold onto him any longer. Tyson never wants to find out how wide he would split open if he didn't have Nick there to hold him together.

Oh, he is definitely fucked.

He doesn't like thinking about this, though, and he turns away from it into Nick, lying next to him, cramped into the bunk with him. Nick murmurs something wordless as Tyson curls up around him, careful not to jostle him too much in case he wakes him. Nick will always be around Tyson in some form or another, but Tyson likes having him this close, being this wrapped up in him. He kind of needs it. He won't do anything to jeopardise that.

When they'd been kids together, growing up, worrying about high school and whether they'd make it, Tyson had known – stupid kid – actually _known_ that one day he'd just know Nick loved him and that'd be the end of it. Tyson can't remember what that kind of assurance felt like. He can't remember what it felt like to be that secure in love. It feels like he has to work every minute of every day to keep Nick interested, keep him loving him.

He's terrified that one day it won't be enough.

(Part of him sometimes wonders whether he's forgotten how normal people love; too used to being idolised by kids he never met, he's just lost all touch with what normal love feels like. Part of him wonders whether he ever knew. Can people be born broken?)

Nick mutters something into his skin, better defined words, one hand falling low on Tyson's back, too-hot and tender. Tyson both needs it and can't bear it, but he stays because the idea of leaving is anathema to him.

If either of them ever goes, it'll be Nick. And Tyson doesn't know what to do to stop that day coming.

**

Tyson doesn't remember how they got to this moment, but he knows this is it, a sharp, sick feeling in his throat telling him so. He's screamed himself out, words and accusations he doesn't even remember anymore, and now he's just listening to Nick scream back at him.

He wonders how hard he'll shatter when Nick leaves.

Nick shouts something at him, something about Tyson not getting that he's in this for the long haul, here for good – not that that makes sense to Tyson at this point – but it's drowned out by the sound of the door slamming shut. For a good few moments Tyson stands there, disorientated, before his knees give out, sending him slamming to the floor, dizzy and nauseous. He sits there for what feels like hours, spinning slowly apart as the door doesn't open again. Nick doesn't come back.

Tyson wants to believe that Nick's just getting some air, cooling his head, but he can't bring himself too. He spins pretty illusions for fans all day long and he's got none left for himself.

He manages to make it to the toilet before he throws up, sharp and bitter with longing, with desperation. Somehow, he knows, he screwed things up, and he's slipping over his own thoughts trying to work out how to piece things back together. He catches one thought, splinter-rough, that this is it. He's done. Or, they're done, but it's not like there's a whole big difference between the two.

He won't do anything drastic, because he doesn't have to. Tyson _needs_ Nick, can't remember a time before Nick. Why bother doing something stupid when life will never be the same again?

Maybe it's for the best that they're done, because what this was, whatever this was, it wasn't healthy.

He retches futilely, body straining to bring up the thinnest bile, and spits it out, tears clumping his eyelashes. He doesn't think they're from the argument earlier. More likely to be a physical reaction to throwing up, because everything is just one set of physical reactions after another, right? And emotions, Tyson can attest, screw everything up.

He leans his head against his arm on the toilet bowl and wishes miserably for relief. For Nick. But they're kind of the same thing.

**

Someone is touching his back. Tyson knows this, but it's not worth responding to whoever it is. He thinks at some point, he might have been crying, but he can't be sure, and he's too miserable to try and work it out.

"Jesus, Ty, c'mon." Someone's shaking him, and he wants to shake them off but he doesn't have the energy. They can do what the hell they like. "Tyson, c'mon, this isn't healthy." When Tyson laughs it's thin and bitter like bile, rasping through him. "_Tyson_! Look at me right now, you gangly bastard!"

Tyson can understand that. He looks up at whoever it is, and sees Nick, but his eyesight's pretty blurred right now. Hallucinations are one of the signs of madness, right?  
"You're not mad." Not-Real Nick sounds kind of pissed off, but that's to be expected. "Kind of crazy, but not mad."

Tyson doesn't think there's a difference.

"Let's get you to a bunk, OK?" Whoever it is heaves him up, one arm around his waist, familiar. "You don't get to fall apart on me now."

Tyson clings to him as they go, willing to take a hallucination over nothing. It's a remarkably solid hallucination, but then, Tyson is evidently remarkably mad. A solid hallucination isn't too much of a stretch.

He's poured into his bunk, and reaches for Not-Real Nick, but he just sits on the bunk opposite Tyson, carefully out of reach. They stare at each other in silence for a few moments before Not-Real Nick says quietly: "You look like _shit_." Even with misery tight at his throat, Tyson manages a smile at that. "Hell, Ty, I don't get it." Nick says, and Tyson nods because he doesn't either. "I'm not going anywhere. I've spent years not going anywhere but with you."

"Which'll get pretty boring soon, right?" Tyson nods again.

"_No_!" Explosively. Tyson all but flinches back in his bunk, but Nick subsides instantly. "No, idiot. You think anywhere around you could be boring?" Tyson considers this, but Nick shakes his head quickly. "I don't want to hear what you're going to come up with next."

"I didn't mean to-"

"So help me god, if you say 'hurt me'..." Nick trails off and Tyson meets his eyes, so familiar and so impossible. "You should damn well _know_ that I'm not going anywhere without you. What did I ever do to make you think otherwise?"

Looking back over the years, Tyson can't pinpoint a moment when this change happened. All he knows is that it's not Nick who changed, it's Tyson.

"Will you," he clears his throat, "will you hit me if I say 'it's not you, it's me'?"

That startles a laugh out of Nick, and he shakes his head. "It'd be a close-fought battle." He says, and reaches forward for one of Tyson's hands, freakishly long fingers curling around Nick's, Nick's guitar calluses a familiar surprise against Tyson's palm. He wasn't expecting a hallucination to have _calluses_.

He clings on to Nick's – real Nick's? – hand, knows he's doing it even as he can't stop himself. "I just don't get why you'd want me." He manages painfully, and Nick shrugs.

"Sometimes, I don't get why you'd want me, and then I remember that we know each other backwards. You forget that, Ty?" For all his words are maybe a little harsh, Nick's fingers stroke a soft, reassuring rhythm into Tyson's wrist, and Tyson shuts his eyes for a long moment.

"I know _me_ too well to think that I deserve you." He says, and maybe that's the thing of it, maybe that's what it comes down to. Tyson can see all of his own flaws in blinding, blinding light, highlighted by Nick next to him. Maybe he cast some shadows on Nick's flaws, too.

But that doesn't hide the fact that Tyson adores Nick and Nick – well, there's never been any question that Nick loves him, but as much? It'll never be anything but painful if they're stuck in this unequal relationship.

"Christ, Tyson, it's not about what you deserve, and even if it was, that wouldn't be a problem. The problem's inside your head, OK?" Nick's fingers are still and stiff in Tyson's, gripping almost painfully. "We've gotta do something about that." Tyson shakes his head, frantic, because the thought of letting anyone other than Nick inside his head is terrifying. Nick leans forward again, pulling Tyson towards him. "We've gotta sort you out, Ty, because I need you, and it's like you're in pieces right now." He leans forward a little more, presses a kiss to Tyson's lips, gentle, and pulls back again. "I need you. I don't think I even remember how to be me without you anymore."

Which sounds, all things considered, a hell of a lot more like something Tyson would say than Nick. Tyson meets Nick's eyes, and there's no hint of artifice there; maybe they're just as broken as each other, for each other. It would make sense.

Maybe the broken pieces fit together more neatly, but Tyson can't stand the jagged edges anymore.

"We'll fix this." He says, and means it. Nick's hand is warm in his, and Tyson wonders how long he's been seeing things wrong. Plain facts maybe aren't so easy to see as he thought, because the plain fact is – he'd forgotten how to look right.

**


End file.
